Through stained glass

  CHAPTER XXXI

  "It was the only way," said the lady as Lewis handed her out of thecarriage. "The horses wouldn't wait, once the gates were open. What didyou wish to say?"

  "I--I wanted to ask you about the Leightons," stammered Lewis. "Theyused to live here. That is--"

  "I know," said the lady. "Come up on the veranda."

  That veranda made Consolation Cottage seem farther away than ever toLewis. Its floor was tiled. Its roof was cleverly arranged to give apergola effect. It was quite vine-covered. The vines hid the glass thatmade it rain-proof. In one corner rugs were placed, wicker chairs, aswinging book-rack, and a tea-table. The lady motioned to Lewis to sitdown. She sat down herself and started drawing off her long gloves. Shelooked curiously at Lewis's face.

  "You're a Leighton yourself, aren't you? Some relative to Mrs. Leightonand Natalie?"

  Lewis nodded.

  "A cousin in some Scotch degree to Natalie," he said; "I don't know justwhat." Then he turned his eyes frankly on her.

  "Where are they--Mrs. Leighton and--and Natalie?"

  "They are gone," said the lady. "They sold out here almost a year agoand went back to the States. I have the address somewhere. I'll get itfor you." She went, but was back in a moment.

  "Thanks," said Lewis. He did not look at her any more or around him. Hiseyes fixed vaguely on distance, as one's eyes do when the mind tellsthem they are not wanted.

  The lady sat perfectly still and silent. The silence grew and grew untilby its own weight it suddenly brought Lewis back to the present andconfusion. He colored. His lips were opening in apology when the ladyspoke.

  "Where have you been?" she asked.

  Lewis gave her a grateful look.

  "I've been playing about the old place," he said, smiling. "Not alone.Natalie, Shenton, and I. We've been racing through the pineapple-patch,lying on our backs under an orange-tree, visiting the stables, and--andManoel's little house, hiding in the bramble-patch, and peeking over thepriest's wall." Lewis waved his hand at the scene that made his words soincongruous. "Sounds to you like rank nonsense, I suppose."

  The lady shook her head.

  "No," she said--"no, it doesn't sound like nonsense."

  Then he asked her about Natalie. She told him many little things. At theend she said:

  "I feel that I've told you nothing. Natalie is one of those persons thatwe generally call a 'queer girl' because we haven't the intelligence orthe expression to define them. Our local wit said that she was a girlwhom every man considered himself good enough for, but that consideredherself too good for any man. That was unjust, but it sounded truebecause sooner or later all the eligibles lined up before Natalie--andin vain." The lady frowned. "But she wasn't selfish or hard. She used tolet them hang on till they just dropped off. She was one of those womenthat nothing surprises. Her train was made up of the ugly and thehandsome--bore, prude, wit, and libertine. She gave them all something;you could feel it. I think she got tired of giving and never taking."

  "Is she so beautiful?" asked Lewis.

  "Beautiful? Oh, no," said the lady, and then suddenly stopped andstraightened. She laughed. "Now I look back on it all, it seems she mustbe beautiful, but--but I know she isn't. Now _I'm_ talking nonsense."

  "No, you 're not," said Lewis. "There are women like that." He reachedout for his hat and stick.

  "You're not going?" said the lady. "You'll stay to tea?"

  Lewis shook his head.

  "You've been very kind," he said, "but I must be going."

  Without rising, she took the hand that he held out and then sat andwatched his erect figure swing down the drive to the gate. Suddenly sheremembered him. They had been together in school. She did not call himback. Bores are people that misjudge the values of impressions. The ladywas not a bore; she was a wise woman.

  By traveling overland to Rio, Lewis caught the newest and finest of thebig steam-packets plying between Buenos Aires and Southampton. This oldworld of his had been moving apace in more ways than one. The yearssince, with his father, he had made this same trip were comparativelyfew, but during them progress had more than taken a long stride; it hadcrossed a line.

  He dressed for dinner at eight. As he stepped into the dining-room, hepaused and stared. It was like walking into some smart London restaurantafter the theater. Gone were the long ship-boards at which forgenerations human beings had been lined up like cattle at a trough. Intheir place were scattered small tables, round and square, of a capacityvarying from two to eight.

  Around the tables wealth rioted. There were wealthy coffee-planters, whospent a yearly fortune on their annual trip to Paris, surrounded bytheir wives and such of their offspring as were old enough to escape thenursery table; planters, sheep- and cattle-men from the Argentine, someof them married, all accompanied; and women. Lewis had never before seenso many beautiful women at one time. It was _the_ boat of the season.Over all hung an atmosphere of vintage wines.

  Lewis was shown to a seat at a table for two. His _vis-a-vis_ was arare, lonely little man. The black studs in his shirt seemed to explainhim. He was sour and morose till he found Lewis could speak French, thenhe bubbled over with information. It transpired that the room was alivewith situations.

  "This is a crowded boat, but see the lady over there?"

  Lewis's eyes followed the speaker's backward nod. He saw a remarkablybeautiful blonde in evening dress sitting alone at a table for four. Shekept her eyes steadily on her plate.

  "We call her the Duchess," continued the little man. "She belongs to Dela Valla, the sugar king. He's got his daughters with him, so she had tosit at another table, and he paid four passages for her so she'd be keptalone."

  Lewis nodded politely.

  "Now slant your eyes over my left shoulder," continued the little man.

  To Lewis's surprise, he saw another beautiful woman, a bright-eyedbrunette, sitting alone at a table for four. He turned, interested, tohis table companion for the explanation.

  "Ah-ha!" said the little man, "you begin to wake up. That, my friend, isMlle. Folly Delaires. She's been playing in Buenos Aires. When she sawpeople staring at the Duchess, she stepped up to the purser's office andlaid down the cash for a table for four. At first we thought it was justvanity and a challenge, but we know her better now. She's just the devilof mischief and several other things in the flesh. We ought all to begrateful for her."

  Lewis looked curiously at Mlle. Delaires. He watched to see her get up.She passed close to him. She did not have the height that his traininghad taught him was essential to beauty, but she had certain attributesthat made one suddenly class height with other bloodless statistics.From her crown of brown hair to her tiny slippers she was alive.Vitality did not radiate from her, but it seemed to lurk, like aconstant, in her whole body and in her every supple movement. Lewis didnot see it, but she was of the type that forever takes and never gives.

  As she passed close by him he felt an utterly new sensation, as thoughhe were standing in a garden of narcotics, and lassitude were stealingthrough his limbs. When she had gone, a single memory clung to him--thememory of the wonderful texture of her skin. He had read in a child'sbook of physiology that our skin breathes. The affirmation had meantnothing to him beyond mechanics; now, suddenly, it meant much. He hadseen, felt, this woman's skin breathe, and its breath had been like thefragrance of a flower.

  For the first time in his life Lewis looked on woman with blind eyes.During almost three weeks the years that he had lived in familiarcontact with women stood him in good stead. He never spoke to thebright-eyed rival to the Duchess, but he watched her from afar. Menswarmed about her. She stood them as long as they amused her, and thenwould suddenly shake them all off. There were days when she would let noone come near her. There was no day when any man could say he had beenfavored above another.

  Then came an evening when Lewis had dressed unusually early and slippedup to the boat-deck to cool off before dinner. He sat down on a benchand half closed his eyes. When
he opened them again he saw a woman--thewoman, Folly Delaires--standing with her back to him at the rail. He hadnot heard or seen her come. Almost without volition he arose and steppedto the rail. He leaned on it beside her. She did not move away.

  "I want to kiss you," said Lewis, and trembled as he heard his ownwords.

  The woman did not start. She turned her face slowly toward his.

  "And I want you to," she said.